


Confessions of a Former Camp Counsellor

by allcanadiangirl (andchimeras)



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-15
Updated: 2011-03-15
Packaged: 2017-10-16 23:42:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/allcanadiangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Kind of like the difference between contrition and attrition, maybe, if there is a difference." Second-person Dan POV, directly after "Celebrities." On friendship.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Confessions of a Former Camp Counsellor

contrition: n. sincere remorse for wrongdoing; repentance.  
attrition: n. repentance motivated by fear of punishment rather than by love of one's victim.

* * *

He said "it's okay to be pissed" and you weren't pissed, you weren't. Not at him, anyway. He didn't do anything, it's not his fault, it's yours, and then. "Danny, it's okay to be pissed." Fuck him. You know it's okay, and fuck that. If he wants you to be pissed, you sure as hell will not let him see how pissed he's making you.

Casey tells Jeremy not to worry about it, that there are no sides and everybody's with him, there for him. You don't say anything. Casey's stolen your lines, and it's annoying, even though you couldn't summon empathy for a starving child right now (this might be an exaggeration, spurred by an excess of time-outs and Weaver's Dark Amber). Casey doesn't know what it means to be there for somebody.

Be there for him. The last six years solid, been there. And never, never a word--not thanks, not "if you need anything, Danny, seriously, just ask" (like he thought it was unspoken or something stupid like that--bullshit, horseshit; nothing should be unspoken, you don't trust that kind of blind assumption of, well, trust). Nothing.

Nothing, and now suddenly he's over the divorce and he's railroaded himself into being over Dana. Suddenly he's fine and he doesn't need you to listen or pat his shoulder, tell him not to be afraid. Suddenly he has the time and inclination to notice you're not fine. How long; you've been doing this, living in this body, all the time you've known him, and he didn't notice. Never bothered to notice until he'd decided everything was great in his life. Now to work on Danny, now to give Danny the benefit of Casey's perfect mental health and insightful perspective. Danny, who was always sane enough to be Casey's counselor, but isn't now.

He expects you to listen to him. What the hell does he know? He's never asked, never listened, not when your comments were bitter, not when you didn't talk at all (you warned him, though, you told him it was okay if you were quiet--no; he should have known you didn't mean it, like you know when he doesn't mean it). He just thinks you don't change and you're always fine, always good, always simple normal funny Danny who's worked through all his baggage and is available twenty-four-seven to advise His Best Friend Casey. You're not. Really, you never were. You faked it for a while, you convinced yourself for a while, but that's undone, gone. Unravelled, torn down, whatever the imagery (demolished, Abby said, this is what needs to happen), it's harder and harder to keep standing in your place. Being what you are for everyone (like that's going to make them love you, like they'll forget what a jackass you've been, what an idiot, what a complete and utter fuck-up you are).

It's clear now, clearer than ever, that there is no repayment for how much you've given (no, not given--you're not a mother or a martyr, you're sure as hell not a saint). Never given, but how much you have allowed them to take of you (kind of like the difference between contrition and attrition, maybe, if there is a difference at all). Always staying sixteen underneath, that same selfish arrogant bastard, you thought if you rolled for Sam and bought for him he'd be fine. He would't get too--he wouldn't make it thirty percent of his life like you did. He wouldn't be stupid.

Like you know from stupid.

You're just. You've been trying but it's no use. There is no return, nothing coming back from your half-hearted, calculated investment of a shoulder and an ear, so you'll be pissed. You'll be pissed if you want to be and you won't say thanks for Casey's advice. Casey's _understanding_ ("I know how you feel, Danny, it's okay"). Asshole.

As if he knows. He doesn't know, he has no experience. He's never been there for anybody, not the way you have. He's never forgotten his own concerns, his own life to do for someone else. You want to tell him to fuck off when he says the two of you should talk after the game. You say, "I don't really think that's necessary, do you?" Nonchalant.

You don't say thanks and you allow yourself a glimpse of his confusion, his hurt at being refused. Then you leave.

 

End.


End file.
